Bokelskere.no

I like this place and willingly could waste my time in it

A book should be an axe to chop open the frozen sea inside us.

Im echten Manne ist ein Kind versteckt: das will spielen.

Jeg er fuld av sælsom taknemmlighet, alt indlater sig med mig, blander sig med mig, jeg elsker alt. Jeg tar opp en tørkvist og holder den i hånden og ser på den mens jeg sitter der og tænker på mine ting, kvisten er næsten rotten, dens fattige bark gjør indtryk på mig, en medynk vandrer gjennem mit hjærte. Og når jeg reiser mig og går, kaster jeg ikke kvisten langt bort, men lægger den ned og står og synes om den, tilslut ser jeg på den en siste gang med våte øine før jeg efterlater den der.

Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I've tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.

What she loved was this, here, now, in front of her; the fat lady in the cab. Did it matter then, she asked herself, walking towards Bond Street, did it matter that she must inevitably cease completely; all this must go on without her; did she resent it; or did it not become consoling to believe that death ended absolutely? but that somehow in the streets of London, on the ebb and flow of things, here there, she survived. Peter survived, lived in each other, she being part, she was positive, of the trees at home; of the house there, ugly, rambling all to bits and pieces as it was; part of people she had never met; being laid out like a mist between the people she knew best, who lifted her on their branches as she had seen the trees lift the mist, but it spread ever so far, her life, herself.

Mrs. Dalloway said she would buy the flowers herself.

No one who had ever seen Catherine Morland in her infancy, would have supposed her born to be an heroine.

ROSALIND

Love is merely a madness, and, I tell you, deserves
as well a dark house and a whip as madmen do: and
the reason why they are not so punished and cured
is, that the lunacy is so ordinary that the whippers
are in love too. Yet I profess curing it by counsel.

ORLANDO

Did you ever cure any so?

ROSALIND

Yes, one, and in this manner. He was to imagine me
his love, his mistress; and I set him every day to
woo me: at which time would I, being but a moonish
youth, grieve, be effeminate, changeable, longing
and liking, proud, fantastical, apish, shallow,
inconstant, full of tears, full of smiles, for every
passion something and for no passion truly any
thing, as boys and women are for the most part
cattle of this colour; would now like him, now loathe
him; then entertain him, then forswear him; now weep
for him, then spit at him; that I drave my suitor
from his mad humour of love to a living humour of
madness; which was, to forswear the full stream of
the world, and to live in a nook merely monastic.
And thus I cured him; and this way will I take upon
me to wash your liver as clean as a sound sheep's
heart, that there shall not be one spot of love in't.

Glemme hende? – det er umuligt. Min Bygning er styrtet sammen. Tungsindig var jeg, men i dette Tungsind var jeg en Sværmer, og hiin min Ungdoms trøsteløse Tanke, at jeg duede til Intet, var maaske kun Sværmeriets Form, fordi jeg fordrede en Idealitet, under hvilken jeg segnede. Denne Hemmelighed vilde jeg gjemme i mig selv og i denne Hemmelighed en Gløden, som vel gjorde mig ulykkelig, men da ogsaa ubeskrivelig lykkelig.